Oaths
by helenamarkos
Summary: Nymhriel and Gundshau have escaped the wrath of the villagers, but 'happily ever after' is easier said than done... A sanctioned continuation of "The Healer's Oath" by Zoop
1. Indecision

**A Note from Helena Markos: **Somehow, even when I write in someone else's universe, I end up writing a story about travel. This is a sort-of epilogue of Zoop's _The Healer's Oath_, which is written with her blessing and contained in the boundaries of her world. A meta exercise of fan fiction based on fan fiction.

I was a great fan of this pair, being a fan of the "snaga" orcs in general, and saw a real opportunity to delve more into the two of them as they make a way for themselves in the world. And it is great fun, writing in someone else's sandbox, taking their world and rules and their characters and putting your own awkward stamp on them, but I suppose any fan ficcer feels this way. I hope to do them justice, at any rate.

I highly suggest reading _The Healer's Oath_ if you haven't, since Events in that story certainly play a part in this one, and there may be a hint or two to upcoming Zoop sequels. Just a bit ;P

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**A Note from the Zoop:** I can't express enough how thrilled I am that characters of my own creation have inspired someone to fan fic them. :D It should come as no surprise that I'm _also_ thrilled not to have to think up some exciting interim adventures for Gundshau and Nymhriel myself, as they await their eventual appearance in an upcoming sequel in the _Misfire of Global Proportions_ 'verse. Consider Helena's wonderful efforts to be an official, sanctioned, licensed, approved, etc. continuation of _The Healer's Oath_. But make sure you take her advice and read the original first. She's not going to hold your hand, you know. ;)

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A cold rain had started up in the late afternoon. It had been threatening for most of the day, and while the cloud cover eased traveling by daylight, the warmer temperature was already beginning to melt the light covering of snow on the ground into a mess of thick mud. Gundshau could smell the heavy scent before it began peppering down on the pair of them, and though he had kept his eyes sharp for some manner of shelter, he did not spot anything suitable until dusk. By then, he and Nymhriel were soaked down, caked to the knees in soppy, cold muck.

Now, Gundshau eyed his female companion quietly as they sat beneath a granite outcropping, situated on slightly higher ground so their bedrolls would remain dry. It was a good spot; the rocky ledge above formed a natural roof that kept the wind and rain off of them. Though lighting the fire had been tricky business, Nymhriel had the good sense to pack some igniting fluid with her when they fled. Gundshau stretched his chilled hands toward the flames, flexing his cold, stiff joints as Nymhriel pulled on a fresh pair of warm, wool knee socks, her wet boots and stockings laid out next to Gundshau's own boots as they dried beside the fire. It had been a week since they escaped the flames of her home, and Gundshau found that the sight of her long, pale legs was still just as arousing as when he first saw them, even if doubtful thoughts had begun to creep in during their travel.

He had put her in a bad spot, and wondered often if she now had her misgivings. She had promised to be his mate, but a promise made in the throes of passion might not have been a promise at all. What was it that old archer once told him? _Ne'er trust a word outta a bint's mouth after ya fucked 'er proper._ Those words came back to Gundshau often, especially when the weather turned from frigid to unseasonably warm. It seemed they had spent more time soaking than dry in recent days, and the dour expression on Nymhriel's delicate features twisted his gut like he had never known.

Perhaps he had been a fool to think that he was any more than a novel diversion for her. Well, they were in the shit of it now, and Gundshau found himself mentally scrambling, trying to decide what to do next. They had been wandering aimlessly west, the distant peaks of the White Mountains a blue blot to the north, and he had no idea where they would go from here. She had saved his life, twice if he counted his foolish attempt at suicide, and he could not even make her _comfortable_, let alone make her happy.

Gundshau was not even sure what made _tark_ women happy in the first place. An orcess would be pleased with a strong arm and hunting prowess, an unselfish lover and a promise of loyalty, but somehow, Gundshau did not think that would be enough. Men and their womenfolk liked regular meals and warm hearths and soft beds. At the moment, that was not something he could give to Nymhriel, and though she had not complained about the poor weather or the long miles they had traveled, Gundshau could sense her unhappiness. She had barely touched him since they left her home. That alone spoke to her displeasure.

"We should reach Ethring soon, don't you think?" Nymhriel asked brightly.

Her voice broke Gundshau from his reverie, and he realized suddenly that his palms were overly hot. Pulling his hands to his chest, the orc eyed the woman sitting next to him with a confused expression as he rubbed his knuckles. "What that?"

"The city," she explained with a twinkling laugh, and a part of Gundshau was relieved to see her in such good spirits despite her damp, unwashed hair and the grime covering her skirts.

He was so caught up in the sight of her, her chestnut hair reflecting the warm firelight and her rosy cheeks against the paleness of the rest of her skin, it was a moment before he registered what she was saying. "What city?"

A vexed look that Gundshau knew well, from the time he spent healing in her cottage, passed over Nymhriel's features and he found himself cringing a little in the wake of her grey glare. "The _city_ of Ethring," she said slowly. "It rests over the river a few days west of here. I have been there before for supplies that are rare to this region."

Gundshau snorted and swallowed uneasily, avoiding that unnerving glare as he looked out at the rain pattering in the pools of mud just outside. Already the light of day was dimming. He was quiet for a moment, annoyed that he had nearly led them straight into danger. "We go around, then," he said finally, meeting Nymhriel's eyes.

To his dismay, her whole face fell. "Around?" she said, a little distressed. "Whatever for? I have money with me, and we need supplies."

Gundshau gave her a dark look and gestured silently to himself.

"Oh," Nymhriel sounded a little put off. "Well, the fact that you're an orc should not be too much trouble," she said uncertainly. "A general edict went out over a year ago stating that any orc not causing mischief should be left in peace. The King himself ordered it. I am sure, besides a few odd looks, we should not be troubled too much."

He did not look convinced. "Gundshau," Nymhriel implored, "there were things that I did not think to pack that we may have need of. We were in such a hurry..." Her voice trailed off and Gundshau felt another twinge of guilt for the position he had put her in. She should not have to join in his solitude.

"We go to city," he conceded quietly, again avoiding her gaze.

"You will see," Nymhriel soothed, reaching out to squeeze his tense shoulder. "Not all Men are like Saervodh and the men that followed him. I am sure there will be _some_ awkwardness, but it will not be as awful as you think."

"I stay _outside _city," Gundshau told her, a stern look on his face. "Stay hidden."

"I told you, that would be unnecessary–" Anything else Nymhriel thought to say to convince him died with the glower he fixed her with. How could she ask such a thing? The last time she had dragged him among Men they had both nearly been killed, never mind the cruel words thrown carelessly at him. If not for Gundshau's sharp instincts, they would have burned alive in her cottage. The King's law had applied to the people in her village as well, and it was not heeded there, though it had kept Gundshau safe as he healed.

Nymhriel wanted to believe that there would be more acceptance in a larger city, but there were no guarantees of that. "All right," Nymhriel agreed. "I promise I will only be a few hours."

Gundshau only grunted in response, folding his hands against his chin.

Reticence seemed a trait her orc companion was well versed in. Now that she had removed her hand from his shoulder, a movement that made him tense even more, Gundshau's attention was fixed solely on the flickering flames in front of him, his expression far away. _Brooding_, she realized. How often had she gazed upon Angwedhon's face as he brooded, especially as the clouds of war gathered on their doorstep? Nymhriel could not remember if he had even said a word the night before he left for battle. Perhaps he knew somehow, even then, that he would not return.

Gundshau was not leaving for battle, but Nymhriel imagined there was much on his mind as well. No doubt he had his worries for their future, and perhaps his regrets. She was afraid that he'd leave suddenly while she was occupied in the city. He had been so, utterly _silent_ since they set off on their own. True, Nymhriel had to admit she had been just as silent. The weather had not been overly pleasant, and she had not been in an amorous mood lately, but there was more to it than that.

Once their night of passion was over and the immediate danger passed, the reality of what she had done set in. It was not so much that she had slept with Gundshau that troubled her, but the swiftness of that decision. There were motives much less noble than love involved, and a part of her felt horrible for that. Whatever dark attraction he held aside, Nymhriel really could not say that she knew him well. She trusted him, he had shown that he was more than trustworthy, especially where _she_ was concerned, but she knew nothing of his life, of his likes or dislikes, of his own passions, and Nymhriel wanted to know those things. She had made a promise to remain with him. Whether or not she did so in any permanent manner, she owed him a chance, and she wanted to know _him_. It was entirely possible that, once he knew _her_ better, he might retract his offer altogether.

"What is your favorite color?" she asked him suddenly. Even as the words left her mouth, they sounded vapid, but she had to begin _somewhere._

The startled expression that came over Gundshau's face was almost comical. He eyed her up and down suspiciously. "My...what?"

A little pang of pity came over Nymhriel. Perhaps orcs did not have favorite colors. Perhaps they were not allowed such luxuries. "I was just wondering," Nymhriel said off handedly. "We know so little of one another, and I was just curious to know if you have a favorite color."

Frowning, Gundshau's heavy brows furrowed over his blood red eyes as he turned back towards the fire, an intense expression on his face. She did not think such a question required this kind of deep thought, and Nymhriel was about to tell him to never mind it when a soft look came over his face.

"Green," he said quietly, "soft green, almost grey, like color of your skirt."

Nymhriel found herself unconsciously looking at her skirts, even though she already knew they were a faded sage. It was an oddly specific and surprising answer. She had honestly expected him to say _black_ or _red_, the colors of the Mordor banner, or blood, or darkness. Certainly, she had not expected _green_. Weren't orcs supposed to hate growing things? She immediately felt awful for thinking such a thought. Of course he could like the color green. Being an orc should not mean that he only preferred certain colors.

"Why green?" she asked, curious about the soft expression on his face.

"When I was small," he started, "live in open plain. Grass forever until it reach the sky," Gundshau raised his arms in front of him, moving them from side to side like swishing rushes. "Grass very tall, taller than me, sound like whispers, s_hhh, shhh, _hide footsteps_." _A wry grin lit his face. "I crouch in grass, jump out and scare sisters." A quiet chuckle shook his shoulders.

Nymhriel chuckled with him. His sisters must have _hated_ him for pulling such pranks, but she had done similar mischief on her older brother when she was young. "Did you have many sisters?"

Snorting, Gundshau fixed her with a dour stare. "_Too many_ sisters," he said. "Older, younger, always braiding hair like I am another sister. Too many sisters, not enough brothers. I am only son. Outnumbered always." Despite his grousing, there was a real fondness in his voice. Nymhriel did not think he minded being outnumbered.

Out of politeness, she hid her smile behind her hand. Nymhriel could empathize with his sisters. As a young child, she had once painted her brother's face with their mother's rouge when he was sleeping. How angry Húron was with her when he discovered what she had done! Of course that had not been for several hours after his waking, when one of the other village youths pointed out his "whore face." He had not lived that down among the other boys until he went off to train for the Gondor army at the tender age of fifteen. That had been how she met Angwedhon, who had followed her brother home after their years of training and stayed with their family while waiting for assignment. He had no home of his own to go to, her Angwedhon, orphaned at a young age. She had pitied him before he swept her off her feet.

She had been sixteen then, and there was nothing more dashing than watching Angwedhon and Húron spar, their bright swords flashing in the dappled light of the late May sun streaming through the budding Birch trees. Three years later, she and Angwedhon were married and she was apprenticing to the village wise woman, four years after that, her husband was dead along with her brother, two more tallies in the death count of Pelennor Field.

"You are far away," Gundshau said quietly, a gentle look on his face.

With a breathy laugh, Nymhriel shook her head, chasing off old ghosts. "I am sorry," she apologized. "I was just thinking of the pranks I played on my older brother."

"You have brother?" Gundshau asked with a thoughtful look.

"No," she told him quietly. "I buried him along with my husband, but he was a good brother while I had him."

"Never had chance to bury sisters." Gundshau stared balefully at his hands as he wrung them in his lap. "Running, running and then join up with others going to Mordor. In a unit before I know what happened."

"How old were you?" Nymhriel asked. There were some things that he showed ignorance in; some_ basic_ things that he had never been taught. Like how babies were born. He must have been old enough when he lost his family to survive on his own, but young enough to forget whatever he might have learned in a gentler setting.

"Eight," the orc replied with a shrug, "nine, maybe. Hard to say. Hard to remember." Gundshau tapped at his temple with a miserable frown, as if he wished to free those forgotten memories.

She had no words. Eight? Nine? He had been just a child! How could they send a boy so young into the army? What was the orc army like, that he had no concept of babies, of decent treatment? When she had first met him, even as she healed him, she had been curt, almost to the point of cruelty, she had bound him and taken liberties she never should have, and he had called her kind! No amount of curiosity could bring Nymhriel to ask him about his service to the Dark Lord. There were some things better left unknown.

Nymhriel scooted so she was next to him and wrapped her arm around his broad shoulders, resting her cheek on the soft, black hair of his head. He stiffened at first, unsure, and awkwardly returned the embrace. Hunger was gnawing at her, but Nymhriel felt more compelled to comfort Gundshau now then to ask him about supper.

"I am sorry about your sisters," she said quietly, hoping that he understood that she was sorry for much more than that, but could not put it all into words.

"Sorry for your brother," Gundshau told her.

They stared out into the blackness, the firelight catching flecks of rain as it peppered down, like twinkling stars against the pit of night. It was unseasonably warm for winter, and Nymhriel was silently thankful. She had no idea what they would do when the snows came down heavily. They would have to find decent shelter by then.

Shifting anxiously, Gundshau heaved a long sigh and Nymhriel released him. She supposed their quiet moment was over. He cast an apologetic look at her. "Need to piss," he said unceremoniously. He patted her knee before rising to his feet and strolling, barefoot, into the rain, his figure swallowed by the darkness.

Blinking a little at his candor, Nymhriel smiled and shook her head. Perhaps, once they had gotten to know each other better, she might discuss with him proper etiquette regarding such things.

Nymhriel rifled through her bag, producing the hard bread she had packed hastily. The bread was most likely more than stale by now, but Gundshau had no luck in hunting today. They needed to keep their strength up until they reached the city, then Nymhriel could purchase proper traveling food, dry meat and tack and nuts and grain. That would sustain them for a while, at least.

As she carefully repacked her pack, Nymhriel tested the weight of the Lady's Mantle seeds she had brought with her. She would need to get more of these as well. Gundshau had only asked her about them once. "They are for a woman's concerns," she had told him tartly, and he had not pressed the matter. Though they had not engaged in intimacy since the night in her cottage, she had taken them religiously as they traveled. Lady's Mantle worked best with consistency, and Nymhriel was not sure she wanted to take any chances. They were in no position to start a family, and Nymhriel was not sure she was ready for that level of commitment. Not yet.

"_Pssst_," Gundshau's rough tenor hissed from behind her, and Nymhriel nearly screamed when she turned to find his face hovering in the darkness, his countenance illuminated while his body remained shadowed. It was a trick of the eye, but one that sent her hand to her throat. The harsh light hit every line and bestial feature in his face. For the briefest moment, he seemed a complete stranger.

He did not notice her sudden fright. "Pass knife," he whispered urgently as he pointed to his jagged hunting knife laying, sheathed, near her feet.

Now, Nymhriel feared for a whole, new reason. "Is there danger?" she asked anxiously.

Wrinkling his nose, Gundshau pressed his long, clawed finger to his lips before pointing, again, to the knife at her feet and Nymhriel complied, quickly passing him the short, broad weapon. He shifted into the night like a shadow.

Long, tense minutes passed as Nymhriel stared into the darkness, gnawing at her ragged thumbnail, straining her ears against the pattering rain just outside. Then, there was a horrible screaming screech followed by silence so utter, she worried she might chew her nail clear off. Gundshau appeared a moment later with a large bundle of fur and blood slung over his shoulder, a triumphant look in his face.

"No hard bread tonight," he said cheerily as he dropped the groundhog just outside of their shelter. "Rain drives rodent out of hole. Good meal."

Nymhriel shook her head, annoyed, as he dressed the groundhog, even though her stomach rumbled in anticipation. "I though that we were in _danger_."

"Didn't want scare off dinner," Gundshau replied with a careless shrug as he freed the flesh from the skin and sliced the beast in twain. Nymhriel stripped two long branches that had yet to become firewood as he did this, and in short order they had the groundhog spitted. Soon, they were sitting on their haunches, both staring as the meat charred.

Gundshau did not let their supper cook for more than five minutes before fishing it off the flames and handing her half. The meat was rawer than she was used to, but no harm should come from eating a kill so fresh, and Nymhriel dug into her portion with a ravenous vigor that nearly matched her companion's.

After supper was cleaned up and they had washed as well as they were able with their limited supplies, they bedded down for the night. Nymhriel had shared a bed with Gundshau for the past week, but always she was too road weary to approach him. To his credit, he had not pushed any advances on her, content to lay by her side. She felt grimy, and she was sure she reeked, but Nymhriel wanted his warmth tonight, even if the chill in the air was not sufficient to warrant it.

Turning, Nymhriel brought her head to rest against his chest, listening to the strong, slow thud of his heart. Gundshau shifted a little, and she felt his hot breath against her temple as he brought his arm up so her head was half pillowed on it. With quiet amusement, she realized his feet barely reached her mid calf. "I am sorry if I smell awful," she apologized, knowing his nose was far more sensitive than hers. His odor was not so bad. He had stripped his bloody shirt, and the soft musk of his skin was a comfort.

"Smell fine," he assured her, weariness in his voice. They had traveled a good distance today. Between sloshing in the mud and carrying her pack, Nymhriel was feeling the start of soreness in her legs and shoulders, and she imagined he felt the same. He carried a greater weight than her, with his weapons adding to the bulk.

Gundshau rolled to face her, and as his mouth traced over her body, Nymhriel decided to let her self conscious thoughts slide away. This was not a hard task as he went about pleasing her, and soon she was lost in the feel of his hands on her body, his tongue setting fire to her.

Nymhriel embraced her orc lover, and decided to let fate take them where it may.


	2. Glimmer

**Chapter 2: Glimmer **

**AN: **You've all waited an awfully long time for a very short update. Sorry about that. The next chapter is going to be quite a bit longer.

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He wasn't sure how she managed to persuade him to take the road. There were advantages, of course, and Nymhriel had rattled them off easily that morning: it was quicker, there were fewer, deep pools of mucky water for them to wade through, and there was the Law. She had brought it up twice since they woke that morning. He was protected. He would be safe. Gundshau was not sure if she was trying to convince him or herself.

Shuffling along in her wake, Gundshau could at least be thankful that they had not passed any other travelers that morning. The gravel path stretched on in front of them, clear except from an errant fallen branch, as far as he could see. The trees lining the edge made him uneasy, though. Gundshau's sword hand rested lightly on the hilt of his curved blade. Anyone could be hiding in there.

They had stopped around midday near a junction, their hunger getting the better of them. It was a quick meal; what was left of the badger and hard bread washed down with what the remainder of their water. Gundshau berated himself for not thinking to leave a container out in the rain to catch more.

Nymhriel seemed in remarkably good spirits, and that did cheer the orc. She was most likely happy that she would be walking among her own kind soon. It would be an easy task to give her the slip once she was in the city, but Gundshau wasn't sure he could do that. It would be better if she was among her own people, and without him around; she would not feel responsible for his fate, but the thought of giving her up was too painful.

"You are thinking very hard about something," Nymhriel observed, smiling at him as she brushed her hands clean.

Gundshau blinked as he shouldered his pack. "Eh," he cleared his throat. "Not think on much. We near city?"

"I believe we should reach it by dusk." Nymhriel's expression was thoughtful. "It _has_ been a while since I traveled there, and then I was on the road the whole time, but I think we are close."

"No people yet," Gundshau grunted, looking around.

"Well, it is colder today. That is probably keeping everyone inside." Nymhriel rubbed her arms through the covering of her green cloak. It was not quite cold enough for the ground to freeze again, but there was a general nip in the air that had been lacking for a while. The greying sky, while a relief to his sensitive eyes, seemed ominous, and Gundshau hoped they happened upon some decent shelter before a storm rolled through.

Perhaps an hour passed while Gundshau fretted about coming across men and Nymhriel shivered beside him. He wished they had time to pack more clothes. Stopping, he pulled the blanket from his pack and passed it to Nymhriel.

"Gundshau," she argued, raising her hand, "I'm fine."

Stubborn woman! "Not _fine_," he growled. "You are cold. Take blanket."

His expression brooked no argument, and Nymhriel accepted the blanket from him with a long suffering sigh, wrapping it around her shoulders over her cloak. It billowed comically over the pack on her back, making her look like she had a hump. Nymhriel felt ridiculous. Glancing over her shoulder, she turned back towards Gundshau with a raised brow. He looked suspiciously like he was biting back a smile.

"Give pack," he said with a barely concealed grin.

"I can carry my own-" Nymhriel paused at the glower on his face. She wondered why he was being so pushy today.

"Give," he rumbled, extending his hand, and Nymhriel passed him her pack. He shouldered both packs easily and loped ahead of her.

It started as a light peppering of tiny flakes. At first Gundshau was not concerned, but as the day wore on, those light flakes became denser and denser, so that by late afternoon Gundshau could barely see more than ten feet ahead or behind. The only, slight reprieve was the lack of wind. The snow might have been falling in earnest, but at least they weren't being bombarded by a true snowstorm.

Glancing towards his companion, Gundshau could barely see Nymhriel's face. She had pulled the wool blanket over her head and wrapped it tight around her so that only her eyes were visible. Touching her elbow lightly, Gundshau called for them to stop.

"We build fire," he explained as he led her towards a large pine along the side of the road. The tree's lower branches were thick and high, both shielding the ground below from snow and offering a suitable cover for the pair of them. It was, perhaps, not the most permanent or safest of shelters, but given the circumstances, it would have to do.

After unloading the packs, Gundshau went about clearing a wide circle for them to build a fire in while Nymhriel shivered and blew on her fingers. She had barely said a word, more occupied with keeping warm than thinking of conversation, and Gundshau worried that she might freeze. His own hands were cold, but his blood ran much hotter than hers. The frigid air affected him less, and soon he had a low fire built, the last of Nymhriel's igniting fluid used up.

"Th-thank you, Gundshau!" Nymhriel stuttered as she warmed her hands.

Gundshau pulled several more suitable logs next to the fire so they would be dry and ready for use in an hour or so when it would threaten to burn down. Then, he pulled another blanket from their packs and, wrapping it around them both, settled next to Nymhriel. He was relieved when her shivering began to abate.

"No city tonight," Gundshau said as he looked up at the dimming sky swirling with white.

He passed her a little hard bread and scooped some snow into a cup and set it by the fire. This was not the first snowstorm he had been caught in, and he knew better than to go about sucking on snow. He was glad Nymhriel seemed to be warming up, at least. Now he had to concern himself with keeping her that way.

Nymhriel chewed the hard bread thoughtfully as she regarded his profile. The lines along the crease of his eyes seemed more pronounced than she remembered. He looked weary. "You should get some rest," she suggested.

Gundshau spared her a tired smile. "Is fine," he said. "Used to staying awake."

Shaking her head, Nymhriel pried the bread in half. "Then," she sighed, "at least eat something. You should take care of yourself as much as you are taking care of me."

Huffing, Gundshau rolled his eyes, but took the bread from her. He tore off a chunk easily, chewing loudly as he stared at the flames in front of them. "Not taking _good_ care," he said after a pause.

"You are taking _very_ good care," Nymhriel argued. "You cannot help the situation we have been put in."

Gundshau could think of a dozen things he might have done to avoid this situation, beginning with leaving Nymhriel's cottage when he was well enough to walk. He had justified staying as her protector a million different ways, but really, all he had done was put her in a bad situation. Some mighty protector he was!

"Gundshau," Nymhriel said softly, breaking him from his dour thoughts, "I do not regret coming with you, or what has happened between us." An unsure look crossed her orc companion's features, but Nymhriel pressed on. "I do wish that, perhaps, we had gotten to know each other a little better first, but that is as much my own mistake as yours. Perhaps, even more mine..." Nymhriel trailed off uneasily, unsure of how much of her soul she should bare at the moment.

The concerned look on his face bolstered her. She did not want him to think that she found him lacking. "But Gundshau," she continued, cupping his cheek, "I _am_ happy to be here with you. If not here with you, I would still be alone, and that was not a real life. I may have had a sturdier roof over my head, but I was a shadow in that house."

Nymhriel bent forward quickly to catch his lips with hers. She had never kissed him before. For his own part, Gundshau was still beneath the soft pressure of her lips. Deciding that kissing may not be an orcish custom, Nymhriel kept the contact chaste.

He blinked when she pulled away, confused. Gundshau swallowed roughly. "What that?"

Nymhriel felt her mouth quirk up in a small smile. "I just kissed you," she explained as she pulled the blanket a little tighter around them both.

Gundshau tentatively pressed his fingers to his lips, a quizzical look on his face. "Mannish thing?"

Nymhriel laughed out loud. "Yes," she said, her eyes bright, "I suppose it is a 'mannish thing'."

Rubbing the bridge of his nose, Gundshau fixed her with a small smile of his own. He suddenly looked very young to Nymhriel. If he was not so dark in complexion, she would swear that he was blushing. "Not terrible," he said at last.

Laughing again, Nymhriel laid her head on his broad shoulder. "Well," she said, "I am glad you managed to suffer through it." She felt him chuckle silently beneath her temple.

Pulling the melted water away from the fire, Gundshau passed the ceramic cup to Nymhriel. She took a long sip and passed him the other half. Gundshau drained the cup in one, great gulp before filling it with more snow and placing it by the fire.

"We have two cups," Nymhriel offered, amused. "Why don't you use the other one as well?"

"Other cup made of wood," Gundshau replied with a haughty snort as he gestured towards the flames. "Will burn."

Feeling light, Nymhriel snickered. "Well, at least one of us is thinking properly."

"Hurr," the orc growled as he knocked on his crown, "Gundshau _always_ thinking."

"That is what I am worried about," Nymhriel said with a wide smile, teasing, as she nudged him companionably. Gundshau laughed outright at that, shaking his head. It felt good to see him smile. Nymhriel could not remember if she had ever heard him laugh out loud before. She found she liked the gentle rasp in his voice.

Gundshau stiffened suddenly, looking out into the relentless white in front of them. Nymhriel followed his line of sight, but she could not see beyond the ring of the fire. The sky had gone dark during their brief discourse. Though her eyes were not being helpful, she could hear the clanking of metal on metal and a horse's loud snort in the distance. Gundshau rose to his feet, his hand automatically going to the hilt of his sword.

"_Halloo_," a deep voice called out from the darkness, and Nymhriel was surprised that she recognized the owner. "I see a fire ahead! Halloo, is anyone there?"

"Barannon," Nymhriel cried out as she jumped to her feet.

A wave of relief passed over her when she saw the greying, reddish muzzle of the trader's old gelding emerge from the darkness. The tradesman brought his wagon alongside the pair of them. Gundshau stepped back and partially behind Nymhriel, as if caught in an old habit. Barannon eyed them both curiously, his bushy grey brows high.

"Well," Barannon said, looking from Nymhriel to Gundshau crouched behind her, "if it isn't Miss Nymhriel and her orc, besides. What finds you both out in this wretched weather? You're a long way from home."

"Oh, Barannon," Nymhriel sighed, wearily, as the events of a week past suddenly relived themselves in her mind. "My house has been burned down."

"Burned!" the older man exclaimed. "And no one saw fit to take you in?"

"Saervodh led a party up to my house to torch it because of my new... protector." At this she turned towards Gundshau, placing her hand on his shoulder. The orc seemed uneasy that attention was suddenly brought upon him. "If it was not for Gundshau, I would never have escaped alive. We have been traveling since, hoping to find some manner of permanent shelter."

Barannon gave the orc at Nymhriel's side an appraising look before turning his attention back towards the young healer. "Rogues and ruffians," he grumbled, "burning down the home of a fine young member of the community. Certainly they know there are _laws_ that must be followed," a displeased look passed over Barannon's face. "But no, I suppose a man who'd burn down an innocent woman's home wouldn't bother with law."

He turned towards Gundshau with a respectful nod. "Here I though she had more to fear from _you_, master orc, but I suppose you can never tell with people. Some will surprise you in unexpected ways and others are sure to disappoint."

Nymhriel squeezed Gundshau's tense shoulder. The orc ducked and rubbed the back of his neck anxiously. "Said I'd protect."

"And so you have," Barannon said with an unsure smile. "Well," the tradesman continued, turning towards Nymhriel, "there's nothing for it! You both may as well climb in. I'm not stopping until I reach Ethring. I dare say, it's a bit crowded back there, but you'll be more comfortable among the fur and leathers in my wagon than you will out in this snow. I know a generous tavern owner in Ethring, along the outskirts, that may not mind so much your traveling companion. I'm sure he's seen less savory characters in that part of town than an orc! And I think you'll find his prices more than reasonable."

"Thank you Barannon." Nymhriel could not have asked for better luck, but there were still manners to consider. "So long as we wouldn't be any trouble."

"No trouble, Miss Nymhriel," Barannon assured. "May the Valar strike me down if I abandon two souls to freeze on the side of the road! Come along now, I'm hoping to reach the city before it gets too late."

As they threw their belongings in and climbed into the back of Barannon's wagon, Gundshau couldn't help feeling somewhat hurt that Nymhriel made no mention of the changed nature of their relationship even as he realized the wisdom of her omission. Telling this man of their intimacy, who several days ago was staring daggers at him, would do them no benefit. Pushing aside his grievances Gundshau settled next to Nymhriel among the piles of bundled buckskin and soft, uncut leather. This was easily the best bed they had been afforded in the past week.

As the wagon jostled along the road, Gundshau found his eyes growing heavy. Glancing over, he realized Nymhriel had already fallen asleep, ensconced in the blanket he had placed on her shoulders that afternoon. Gundshau brushed an errant lock of hair from her face and wriggled himself comfortable, deciding to follow her lead.


End file.
